Have You Noticed?
by Nivena
Summary: For the BSGC Secret Santa exchange. My gift to Tumblr user sillierthanasillylaugh.


_very sorry for the bad quality but i was fried from finals and REALLY stressed so..._

**_Disclaimer: Do not own or else SPN would be wildly different_**

* * *

Many things have started in Pennsylvania. The Constitutional Convention, the creation of the Free Schools Act, the whole 'go-fuck-yourself-Britain' thing.

The Greatest Prank War To Ever Grace This Mortal Plane Of Existence (shortened to TGPWtEGTMPoE), was, by far, the best thing to Pennsylvania's name, though.

Well, that's what Dean calls it. Sam refuses to, on the grounds of it being "a really stupid name, Dean, now give my computer back."

It starts like it always does. Small. Sam insulting Dean's cock rock, Dean turning it up loud enough for their brains to leak out of their ears, and Sam hiding all the cassette tapes in the back and forcing Dean to listen to the top hits for the next three hours.

By then, Dean is willing to commit fratricide.

* * *

Dean wakes up to 'Ode to Joy', which would be fine, if it wasn't being played on a foghorn. He crashes right out of the open Impala door, straight into the dirt outside, only too look up at Sam, who's _grinning_.

"I'm gonna kill you."

"Love you too, jerk."

Nobody should be that happy at- Dean checks his watch- seven in the morning. Further proof that Sam is an inhuman being that is possibly the offspring of the Antichrist and a ray of frickin sunshine.

"What'r we even doin' here?" Dean mumbles, speech slurred from being asleep. Peacefully asleep. Or, as peacefully asleep as he could be in a car.

"Existentialism before you had your morning coffee. You're improving."

"Shut up before I hit you."

"Yeah, yeah. We're going to Bobby's."

Dean manages to get up, rubbing his head and checking for a goose egg to blame on Sam. No dice.

He needs to get some itching powder.

* * *

Dean's revenge comes later in the day, when he finds the foghorn Sam used under a seat in the Impala. Sam is crashed in the motel, looking sort of peaceful for the first time in days.

Hah. Not if Dean has a say in it.

He drags over his blankets, carefully arranging them _just _right, and then manages to drag his little brother (who is surprisingly light for someone that tall) a few inches to the right. Now the fun begins.

Dean hits the foghorn, hard (he still isn't sure how Sam managed to get different notes out of it), and gets out his camera. This is gonna be a moment worth filming. Of course Sam reflexively reaches for the gun under his pillow, ends up an inch off, overbalances, and tangles himself in the sheets Dean managed to tuck in between the bed's mattresses while letting loose a frankly impressive string of curses.

The end result is Dean laughing his head off as Sam sits up, looking like a cheap Halloween bed-sheet ghost.

* * *

Dean suspects nothing as they go to breakfast. He doesn't think Sam would have had time to plan an attack on him just yet, but he guesses it never does to underestimate a Winchester.

He orders a full plate of bacon, pancakes, and eggs, with a coffee on the side, and smirks at Sam's look of disgust. Sam himself just has a salad, 'cause he's a pussy. Dean makes extra effort to be loud as Sam raises his eyebrows at him, combing the newspaper for cases. Then, the bitch reaches across the fucking table and takes a long-ass sip of Dean- emphasis on _DEAN_-'s coffee. He grabs it back, and just to prove his alpha-dominance, takes an even longer sip.

Then splutters on the coffee, and spits it out as Sam laughs. Dean can't really register that right now, not with all of his nerves screaming at him "YOU BITCH THAT WAS HOT AS FUCK".

After downing all of Sam's water, and _still _not managing to get all of the spice out of his mouth, he manages to gasp out a "wha-" and watches as Sam pulls out the bottle literally hidden up his sleeve. He sets it down on the table and grins when Dean catches sight of the label. Jalapeno juice. That bitch.

Sam is too busy laughing, so Dean grumbles and dumps out the rest of his poisoned coffee into a potted plant, then finishes the last of his pancakes. When they put down a couple tens on the table and get in the car, Dean realizes something. Sam didn't eat his salad. At all.

In fact, Sam hasn't eaten in front of Dean since Dad died.


End file.
